The Dark I Know Well
by FaberryForeverr
Summary: There's a part Quinn can't tell, about the dark she knows well. Angsty one-shot.


**Hm... This has nothing to do with any of my other stories... It's just kind of an angsty one shot..**

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><p><em><strong>The Dark I Know Well<strong>_

_There is a part I can't tell_  
><em>About the dark I know well<em>

No one knows what happens when I go home, if you could even call it that, except for my 'mother' and 'daddy.' In the day time, I have to sit and watch them drinking to a stupor and at night, I'm being squished on my bed as I'm cowering, quietly begging for him not to bring pain upon me. He doesn't listen.

_You say time for bed now child_  
><em>Mom just smiles that smile<em>  
><em>Just like she never saw me<em>  
><em>Just like she never saw me<em>

It started when I was nine, in the third grade. My math test was one point away from an A and he wasn't happy about that. Daddy always said that people who get bad grades will be punished. He didn't voice my punishment until night time, when him and Mom were drunk and slightly stumbling.

"Come on. It's time for bed." My father gripped my arm tight and pulled me up the stairs, while Mom smiled off into space and sipped her wine. I've tried to block out that day but through my hazy memories, a few moments stand out to me. Being thrown on the bed and feeling excruciating pain.

_So I leave wanting just to hide_  
><em>Knowing deep inside<em>  
><em>You are coming to me <em>  
><em>You are coming to me<em>

When I woke up the next day, I was covered in bruises and blood was on my pink sheets. The black and blue bruises were placed where clothes would hide them. My mother put my breakfast onto the table, acting as if nothing happened last night when I know she could hear my cries of pain. I didn't tell anyone, no one liked me, so who would listen anyways?

_You say all you want is just a kiss goodnight_  
><em>Then you hold me and you whisper, "Child, the Lord won't mind"<em>  
><em>It's just you and me <em>  
><em>Child, you're a beauty<em>  
><em>God it's good, the lovin'<em>  
><em>Ain't it good tonight?<em>  
><em>You ain't seen nothing yet <em>  
><em>Gonna treat you right<em>  
><em>It's just you and me <em>  
><em>Child, you're a beauty<em>

It continued after that. Anytime I would do something that wasn't up to my parents standards I would be in my room, trying to sleep, but failing as I knew what was to come later in the night. My family, which isn't even a real family at all, always goes to church. When I was in the new stage of my life, the beginning of my teen years, someone asked a question about fathers and mothers who sexually abuse their children. My throat closed, I was struggling to bring air into my lungs. Daddy had grabbed onto my arm when it happened, pushing forcefully onto the new bruises he had created the night before.

That night he came into my room, I told him that the Lord doesn't approve of this, but his only reply was, "Child, the Lord won't mind." as he was unbuttoning my pajama top.

_I don't scream though I know it's wrong_  
><em>I just play along<em>  
><em>I lie there and breathe<em>  
><em>Lie there and breathe<em>

I want too. Oh, how I want too. But after the first time when I screamed and he whipped me with my belt afterwards for every noise I let pass my chapped lips. There's times where I've tried to escape and when I have, he comes into my room at night and handcuffs me to my bed posts, locking me in place. If I struggle my consequences will be worse than they already are, so I lie there, taking deep breathes. Breathing and not knowing why.

_I wanna be strong_  
><em>I want the world to find out that you're dreaming on me<em>  
><em>Me and my beauty<em>  
><em>Me and my beauty<em>

I have a friend, just one. She's new here and the only person in my high school that likes me. She's a freshman just like I am. I've been asked if I can go to her house but I know that I can't, nor could she come to my house. I don't tell her what happens at night, she doesn't deserve this burden. I wouldn't even wish my number one enemy to go through what I do. I walk through the halls of the school with a fake smile plastered on my face. Blonde hair perfectly straight, a well kept posture and smile upon my face. If it was up to me, I'd be like my older sister that's in college, a brunette with glasses and bad acne. He always says that he picked me because of my 'beauty.' In the bathrooms at school during lunch I've tried to cut myself, just asking for one scar. That way, he wouldn't want my imperfect body. I always fail though, when I see a tiny droplet of blood, reminding me of the first time he touched me.

_You say all you want is just a kiss goodnight_  
><em>Then you hold me and you whisper, "Child, the Lord won't mind"<em>  
><em>It's just you and me <em>  
><em>Child, you're a beauty<em>  
><em>God it's good, the lovin'<em>  
><em>Ain't it good tonight?<em>  
><em>You ain't seen nothing yet <em>  
><em>Gonna teach you right<em>  
><em>It's just you and me <em>  
><em>Child, you're a beauty<em>

I'm 16 now. It's my sophomore year and I only have two more years of this. He's changed his schedule after freshman year, instead of him only 'punishing' me when I do something wrong, he just slips into my room every other night, his belt already unbuckled and shirt halfway over his head. On the nights when he's not in my room, I spend them crying into my pillow, praying to whoever is listening to stop this. I figured out later on that if this 'God' everyone talked about at church was so amazing, why was he doing this to me and possibly other people who go through this? The answer was easy: There was no God. If there was then I must've done something wrong if he punishes me by this.

It always starts with him ridding himself of his work clothes. He climbs onto the bed on top of me and marks my neck, he says it's a reminder of whom I belong to. After making me shriek at the pain of him bursting blood vessels in my neck, causing many hickies to appear on me the next day. That only made people who saw them call me derogatory names, saying I sleep around. He takes off my pajamas and puts his stubbly cheek against mine, gritting in my ear that the lord won't mind. He pulls back and his alcohol stained breath fills my nostrils. After that the pain always hurts, even after seven years of this. Before he finishes he always says that I'm a beauty. The man society calls my father gets off of me, picks up his clothes and saunters out with a smirk on his face.

_There's a part i can't tell_  
><em>About the dark I know well<em>  
><em>There's a part i can't tell<em>  
><em>About the dark I know well<em>  
><em>There's a part i can't tell<em>  
><em>About the dark I know well<em>  
><em>There's a part i can't tell<em>  
><em>About the dark I know well<em>

No one knows what goes on in this house. And no one ever will.

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><p><strong>Was this good? I didn't know if I was good at writing angst. Review?<strong>


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